


Raw emotion, pure devotion, they will testify.

by lia_bezdomny



Series: Find the power to devour -9 Days of Hannigram [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Hannigram - Freeform, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M, Murder Husbands, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 02:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lia_bezdomny/pseuds/lia_bezdomny
Summary: "You deck someone for a poxy game on the telly and now I'm in Guantanamo? I know you take the bleedin' Patriot Act serious but fuck me.”Will is in custody... but is it really Will? Nah, what would be the fun in that?





	Raw emotion, pure devotion, they will testify.

**Author's Note:**

> I set myself up for another 7 days challenge, this time Hannigram. No photoshop, just plain writing. Oh dear. 
> 
> And as always, when I do this sort of thing, only beta'd by Vodka.

Jack's bedroom, an unglodly hour.

 

“Damn it.” He knows, he has to pick the phone up, eventually. Only the people at the bureau had this number and they had been instructed – thoroughly, and with thinly veiled and flat out threats – to not use it for anything other than emergencies. After five minutes, Jack sighs and stops to be mad at the disturbance altogether. Sleep, peace or the serene combination of both... He hadn't had that, since Will's disappearance and Bella's death anyway.

But he still decides to give the caller a piece of his mind. He does have an reputation to loose, nonetheless.

“God help you if this isn't important.” “Uhm... Jack...”

“What is it, Price?” The lab rat clears his throat and is silent for a few seconds.

“I'm waiting.” “Yeah, I don't know how to say this but uhm...”

“Price, I swear to God, if you don't come up with a valid excuse to wake me up at three o'clock in the morning, I'm gonna banish you to the freaking Tundra!” “Okay, okay. It's just that... Hey, remember that little mishap a while ago, when we kinda misplaced a serial killer and on of our own?” He chuckles. He _actually_ chuckles.

“Good news, we found half of them. Well not _half_ of them,” Jack can almost see the airquotes and makes a mental note to send Price down a flight of stairs.

“Price.” The first, second and last warning growl snaps him out of it.

“They found Will. Alive. He's been transferred to the bureau as we speak.” It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in.

“How is he?” “He seems fine. Lucid, no skid marks. But he doesn't talk.”

“And Lecter?” “No sign of him. Hopefully dead.”

“On my way.” He doesn't even bother to hang up the phone.

\---

“Will.”

Jack stares at him through the glass and tries to make sense of the past 18 hours. Price filled him in and he congratulates himself for not slapping him in the face. He did however kick in a door and cut his knuckles open by punching the coffee machine in the hallway.

 

They got the call about 2.40 in the morning, from a police station in Wisconsin of all places. A bar fight got out of hand and during the apprehension of the more violent people, Milwaukee desk jockey – and devoted reader of Tattlecrime, as he felt compelled to mention – recognised Will. They all assumed that someone was messing with them. The prank phone calls they got since the whole Dragon incident... He'd rather not think about it.

But there he was, disgraced – atoned and then disgraced again Will Graham, the trump card of the FBI and one part of the Murder husbands. Price was right, he did seem fine. No Bedelia drug haze – which he didn't buy for a second - no PTSD, no games at all. Just a guy, who didn't understand why he was detained at Quantico for a bar fight.

“ _Hannibal has trained him well,”_ Jack mumbles under his breath and dreads the length, the good doctor will go through, to get Will back.

 

Alana, who still seems to feel some kind of friendship for Will, is next to him. Margot and her son are somewhere safe, at least he hopes they are. He's the only one with her phone number, which she changes ever couple of days. He gets a call from an unregistered number and if he answers with their safeword, he gets the new digits. Of course they both know, if Hannibal really wanted to find them, he could. That's how the bastard likes it, to be the fucking pendulum over their heads.

 

“Maybe I should talk to him.”

She says and Jack doesn't need a degree in Psychology to know, that it's the last thing she wants to do. Kinship to Will or not, he choose to be with Hannibal, instead of coming back. He abandoned his family, his careerer and probably the last shreds of his sanity in the process. God knows what that son of a bitch did to him.

“I'd appreciate that.” And he really does.

 

“Hello, Will. How are you?” He looks her up and down before sneering:

“I'm fucking livid, that's what I am. You deck someone for a poxy game on the telly and now I'm in Guantanamo? I know you take the bleedin' Patriot Act serious but fuck me.”

 

 


End file.
